


McCree Oneshots

by FearOrRegret



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 11:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17099759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FearOrRegret/pseuds/FearOrRegret
Summary: A collection of the McCree x reader posts from my tumblr.





	McCree Oneshots

**So I've been in a major McCree mood, if you're requests are still open, could I request some kind of angsty McCree x reader stuff? Like maybe reader pushes Jesse out of the way of a shot (getting shot instead of him), & winds up severely hurt. & if you really love me, maybe give it a happy end?**

Your fellow Blackwatch agents jokingly called you their spotter. You had, it seemed, a sixth sense for spotting snipers in the field. At any time of day and in any condition, you always knew which way the bullet was going to come from. They knew it and anticipated it, remaining still under cover until your com crackled to life and your voice rang in their ears with a location.

In the rush of combat your instincts were noticeably slower, but you managed to bring your team home safe most days. With the torrent of rain pouring down around you, you were lucky to see your teammates beside you let alone a Talon sniper. Still you managed to make out a red flash some stories above you.

“Two o'clock! Watch your ass!” you shouted over the storm and the chorus of gunfire.

You fought your way past a trio of Talon grunts and took cover in a nearby alleyway. Static buzzed in your com. Lousy things never worked right when it was raining. You scanned the area to make sure your team had taken cover. They had to be your priority before you turned your attention to taking the sniper down. Whether they had heard you or not, the others were safely out of the sniper’s view except McCree.

You cussed and yelled into your com for him to move.

No response. His com must have broken. You tried again.

“God damn it, someone tell McCree to fucking move!” you shouted. Surely someone must have heard you.

Nothing.

Frustrated you chanced a glance up towards where you’d seen the sniper waiting. No doubt, they we’re aiming right at him. In a flash you sprinted into the open toward him.

You felt the bone beaking before you heard the crack of the rifle firing. The force of the bullet striking your shoulder pushed you into his chest. You tried to raise your hand to steady yourself against him, and pain flared in your arm from your fingertips to your shattered shoulder. He stumbled and regained his balance and ran with you into the nearest building for cover as the second shot ripped through the brim of his hat.

Soaked through with rain, you shivered from the sudden cold and shook from the pain. The water still dripping from your clothes and hair carried the scarlet stain of blood onto every surface you touched. It covered your shirt and threatened to spill on to the rest of your gear. McCree pulled a kerchief from his pocket, drench as anything else, and pressed it against your shoulder. You wimpered at the pain, your eyes beginning to tear up.

“The hell were you thinking?” he demanded.

You didn’t know how to respond. You’d taken a bullet for him, probably saved his life, and here he was treating you like a toddler that had been playing in traffic. As if he had never taken any unnecessary risks. As if he thought every move through before he acted. Before you could rebuke him, he turned his attention to the rest of the team.

“Sniper in the northeast tower. Spotter’s been shot,” he reported in response to a call you never heard.

Was your radio broken after all? You listened while he filled in the details.

“Right shoulder. Straight through. Shoulder blade’s broken, collar bone might be too.”

Straight through? The bullet hadn’t stopped in your shoulder, simply passed through. And gone where? The only place it could have. How could you have been so stupid that you didn’t notice? Against the black fabric of his clothes, the blood was almost impossible to see. You’d been so close that you’d mistaken what you had noticed for your own. He followed your gaze to the hole in the front of his shirt.

“I’m fine. I’ve seen worse,” he reassured you.

“I’m sorry. I was trying to help, and I…”

You trailed off unsure of what you wanted to say. The unrelenting pain had you on the verge of crying. You’d never been shot before, and you prayed you never would be again.

“I’ll get you out of here as soon as the ship arrives.” He wiped away your tears as he spoke to you in a tone far gentler than before. “It’s okay, pumpkin. You’re doing fine.”

* * *

 

**Hi! Could I request something w mccree comforting his fem s/o who's really stressed n exhausted n kinda sad which leads to some nsfw? Bonus points for some pampering, dirty talk and some good general sweetness!! Ty <3**

Being in Overwatch had proved to be exhausting and often thankless work. You didn’t regret it, but the days after you returned from working in the field your body ached with a fatigue that made you question your life choices. At least you had Jesse to talk you down when you were one bad day away from telling the strike commander to suck it. On the rare occasion that you both had free time, you’d come to his room for the comfort of his company.

Strictly speaking, Overwatch policy made it pretty clear that agents shouldn’t have anything but professional relationships with each other. But, the way you saw it, Blackwatch wasn’t technically a part of Overwatch so it didn’t hurt to fool around with one of their agents so long as you kept it quiet. It was good for morale, after all.

You found yourself, after a particularly grueling press tour, so emotionally exhausted that you could feel it in your bones. It seemed no matter how much Overwatch did for the greater good, the public always needed to be convinced that you were helping. You wished you could opt out of it, but the powers that be–whoever was pulling the strings–believed that if every agent shook enough hands they could win everyone over.

You weren’t even sure if Blackwatch had returned from their last assignment. You hadn’t heard a word from Jesse since they’d left. None the less, you made your way directly to his room, not even stopping to put away your bag first. The door was unlocked, to your relief, and you let yourself in without knocking.

You could hear the shower running and see a hint of steam from under the bathroom door. A warm shower was exactly what you needed. You dropped your bag and stripped down to your underwear before opening the door a crack.

“Mind if I join you,” you said.

“When’d you get back?” he asked.

“About 20 minutes ago. I missed you.”

You came in and shut the door behind you. The remainder of your clothes came off and you stepped into the warm water with him. He looked as tired as you felt. On top of that, he looked like he’d been in one hell of a fight. You took a moment to look over his injuries. An ugly bruise was forming on his cheek, and his arms were littered with red scrapes. You ran your fingers over the bandage on his shoulder.

“Did you get shot?” you asked.

“It’s not that bad,” he told you.

“I can’t believe this,” you complained. “You’re out there getting the crap beat out of you, getting shot, and people still don’t think the work we do is important. Why do we even bother?”

“You can’t think about it that way.” He held your face in his hands and kissed your forehead. “What we’re doing is right. You know it; I know it. So what if no one can appreciate it? I’d take a hundred bullets to make the world a better place.”

“It’s exhausting.”

“How about I help you relax?”

“What did you have in mind?”

He smirked, looking over your naked body.

“I think you already know.”

* * *

 

**Can you do like, literally anything with werewolf mccree being protective of the reader (but in like a cute way? Not a scary over controlling way) thank you!!**

Over the months since learning that your loving boyfriend wasn’t exactly human, you learned somewhat quickly that the world around you was very different from what you had originally perceived. The woman who lived above you–the one with the crafting addiction–was a known witch, and the alley cats that patrolled the street you lived on were her familiars. The library was, in fact, very haunted. And the cafe you walked to for Saturday brunches might be run by sirens.

You were able to take it pretty lightly. It had become something of a joke between you and Jesse. You’d point out some innocent object and ask with mock curiosity if it were something supernatural. Jesse, without ever missing a beat, would tell you a tall tale about gnomes posing as public trash cans or about demon possessed traffic barrels. You had to admire the way he managed to weave a story out of any scenario. Were you more gullible, you might have believed some of what he told you.

The first signs of spring were starting to show. Buttercups had begun peaking over the fresh green grass, and jackets weren’t needed until nightfall. You strolled through the park hand in hand while Jesse recounted a slightly macabre anecdote about kelpies (this, of course, stemming from your facetious inquiry about the playground’s horsey spring rocker).

Suddenly, and at his story’s climax, he stopped and pulled you closer to him. You cast a wary look around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to you, but you’d been wrong before.

“What’s wrong?” you asked after a moment’s stillness.

“There’s something bad here,” was all he said.

The tension in his voice did little to assuage the anxiety stirring inside you. His eyes scanned the park, alert and watching for whatever insidious thing he had either seen or sensed. Chilled despite the sunshine, you tugged on his sleeve to draw his attention back to you.

“We should go home,” you said, trying your best not to sound scared.

He nodded shortly, and, with an arm securely around you, walked you back to your apartment.

* * *

 

**I just found out my best friend and love of my life isn’t human and you’re criticizing me for being shocked!**

The year since you had started dating McCree had been one of the happiest that you had lived. He traveled a lot, a necessity of his work, but when you were together he made sure to fill your days with ceaseless smiles and impassioned love making. As your one year anniversary approached, he insisted that you left the planning to him. He had something special in store, and as the day grew closer you grew more restless with excitement for what awaited you.

There was, of course, the expected date night fare: flowers, slow dancing, sweet whispered words meant to be heard by you alone. Later as the sun began to set he walked with you along your favorite hiking trail. In the dusky light he smiled his wide beautiful smile and announced that he had a surprise planned for you. Something you would never see coming and would never believe.

At the highest point of the trail an opening in the trees revealed a view of the rolling hills below. The crisp autumn breeze would have chilled you if not for the jacket McCree had draped over your shoulders. It was here you stopped to share a kiss in the moonlight.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to share with you,” he told you. For the first time since you’d met he sounded uncertain. “You mean a lot to me so, well, you deserve to see.”

Before you can question him the change had already started. His face shifted to canid fangs and snout, and his hands became clawed and not unlike paws. His shirt strained at the seams to accommodate the new inhuman shape and size of his chest. You stared dumbfounded at the thing before you, no longer your boyfriend but a creature you’d never before witnessed.

“You- Wha-” you stuttered breathlessly while your brain tried to catch up. The only word you managed was the familiar sound of his name. “Jesse,” you uttered in disbelief.

“You going to be okay?” he asked, once again at ease now that the truth was out. He chuckled at your stunned expression, the once gentle rumble now more animalistic snarl.

“I just found out my best friend and love of my life isn’t human, and you’re criticizing me for being shocked?” you replied. How was he taking this so lightly?

“What…” You started and paused. How did you ask this? “What are you? A werewolf?”

“Something like that, but more of a shapeshifter,” he answered. “Most folks call it rougarou. I can change like this whenever I want, as long as there’s moonlight; werewolves don’t get a choice.”

“How long have you been a rugaru?” you asked, testing the word yourself.

“60, 70 years, I think.”

“How old does that make you?”

“About, oh, 110-ish. You lose count after a few decades.”

This was a lot to take in. Just this morning you’d been contemplating whether you’d accept if he proposed to you. That was the type of surprise you had been anticipating. Not learning that you’d been in a long term relationship with a centenarian cryptid who wasn’t even sure how old he was. For every answer you got a dozen new questions arose.

“Did you mean it when you said ‘the love of my life’?” McCree’s question interrupted your spiralling thoughts.

You had already forgotten that the words had left your mouth. You nodded in reply. Confused and overwhelmed as you were, you didn’t love him any less.

“I love you more than anything,” he told you. “If this is all too much for you I understand, but I care too much to keep it from you.”

* * *

 

From a post on imagine-this-overwatch

> **McCree receives a fatal blow while out on a mission. He starts to realize he’s going to die and all he can think about is you. He thinks of the time you first met, the first time he saw you smile, when he confessed his love to you, your first kiss. His final moments are spent thinking only of you. He only wishes he could see you one last time before he goes.**  

It didn’t hurt. That was the troublesome part. As long as his nerves were screaming out in agony he still had a fighting chance. But the wound in his chest had stopped hurting not long after he’d found cover behind an alley dumpster. He closed his eyes. Tried to breath. Felt a sharp reassuring pain in his lungs.

You always used to smile at him in sidelong glances, too shy to fully meet his eye. And he was always ready with a clever quip to draw out that coy, rosey-cheeked grin he loved to see.

He opened his eyes, reluctantly releasing his vision of you. In your place grim shadows obscured the harsh brick around him. Had it only been a moment? Or had his eyes been shut for longer? He’d lost track of the time since being cut off from the team. With any luck they’d find him first. And soon.

Your first kiss had been sudden and brief. Or maybe the light spinning in his head that day made it hard to remember. Your were bandaging the wound on his head. So close he could feel your breath on his cheek. Your lips only touched his for a heartbeat or two before you withdrew to reassume your professional manner.

“You’re so careless,” you chided.

A raucous rumble of thunder shook him back to the present. Or what remained of it anyway. Given the choice, bleeding out under a dumpster wasn’t how he wanted to go. But few are given a choice. And fewer get what they ask for. He had you, at least. The bright sheen of your memory was only slightly diminished by his regrets. There was so much more he wanted to share with you. More than marriage and kids. He wanted to grow old with you. To retire and buy a summer home somewhere outside of any city where it would be just the two of you. And your horses. And your grandkids on long weekends. Just you and him alone and happy until time took you both Together.

The world was silent. No bustling storm or rustling, restless dieing thoughts. Just a ringing in his ears from the stillness. In time he became aware of something beneath his fingers. He squeezed his hand over it, more to familiarize his muscles with the motion than to hold on to anything. Whatever was in his hand jumped at the unexpected motion, and a moment later he recognized the sensation of skin against his palm. Another hand in his.

He opened his eyes a sliver and was met by the harsh rebuke of fluorescent lights. Not the dim, flickering street lamps he’d closed them on. For either heaven or hell, whichever he’d arrived in, the setting was underwhelming. He’d expected more from both. Some fanfare or preamble to whatever stage of existence he’d reached. Instead there was only the blinding light and the buzzing in his ears.

And someone was calling his name. Your whispered voice, nearby and clearer than in any dream, cut through the emptiness. He tried to look around, adjusting slowly to the unforgiving lights overhead. If you were there then he must be in heaven. You stood over him with red, tired eyes, and wrapped both hands around his.

“You’re okay,” you said, releasing the breath you’d been holding for days. “You’re alive.”

It felt like a lifetime had passed since the last time he saw you smile. And there it was. However uncertain, it still seemed like the brightest thing in the room.

“Am I?” his weakened voice croaked. “Thought I was looking at an angel.”

Your laughter ended with a shaking sigh as relief washed away your anxiety.

* * *

 

**“We’re trying to help two of our coworkers get together oh no I think I have a crush on you”**

As veteran camp counselors you and Jesse felt it was your duty to encourage any budding romance between your peers. You’re only young once, after all. Why miss out on love even if it’s just a summer fling?

You had a method. Each of you discreetly coached the people you wanted to get together until the big dance on the last night of camp. If they ended up together by the end of the dance you considered your mission a success, and you had a great record. It seems the two of you had a talent for matchmaking.

You were lucky enough to share a cabin with one of the love birds. She was a first year counselor and tended to be shy and quiet around the others. You’d managed to get her out of her shell enough to talk to her crush.

Counselors only attended the dance as chaperones, but dressing up and bringing dates was part of the fun. As you helped her fix her hair for the dance, you tried to coax details of her romance from her.

“Are you going to the dance with anyone?” you asked. It was an innocent enough question.

“No, who would I go with?” she answered, blushing because she had someone in mind.

“I can think of someone who’d want to take you,” you hinted, hoping she’d take the bait.

“I don’t know,” she told you. She was still so uncertain. “I don’t know if we’re that serious, not like you and Jesse.”

You gave a short laugh at her comment and said, “We’re not together. We’re just friends.”

“Oh.” She sounded either surprised or disappointed. “I just thought since you were so close–I mean, you always eat together and you’re always whispering to each other and the way you look at him…” She paused unsure how to explain her assumption. “I guess, I assumed you were in love.”

You laughed again, although less heartily this time. You in love with Jesse? Sure, he was funny and always had your back and you’d been close for a few years now. You couldn’t deny he had a great body (being a lifeguard you saw it a lot), but a lot of the guys at camp were in good shape. You always liked the way the sun bleached his hair in the summer and the way he’d catch a tan after just minutes outside and the rugged manliness of his features.

And the way he always hugged you tighter than everyone else when you said your good-byes. And the way he said your name like it was his favorite word.

And, oh my god, you were in love with him. How had you not noticed? Now that you knew it you had to tell him. He must have loved you, too. You finished doing your cabin mate’s hair and excused yourself to find him.

You met Jesse returning from the lake. The last of the campers had finished swimming for the day and returned to their cabins to get ready for the dance.

“How’s the mission going?” he asked.

“Fine,” was your rushed, dismissive answer. There were more important things to talk about, and you came right out with it. “Jesse I think I’m in love with you.”

He pushed his hat back on his head, smiled, and said, “Took you long enough.”

* * *

 

**So i can i request deadlock!mccree falling for one of the girls that are in the gang as well?**

Jesse first laid eyes on her perched on a barstool at the counter of the Panorama Diner and going to town on a Funday Fudge Sunday. Her legs crossed at the knee, and she sat bolt upright with her head held high as if her genteel posture would offset the lowbrow effect of her mudcaked leather boots. The faintest glow of sweat from the dry summer heat made her skin shimmer under the fluorescent lights. She caught him staring and, before he could think of anything witty to say, offered him a spoonful of her sundae.

It’d be rude to say no. She scooped up a generous portion and fed it to him and smiled, laughing at the ice cream on his face. Ever since then he was star struck. Nothing on this Earth had a laugh that pure so she had to be an angel.

To his surprise, and great delight, she was back again the next week on the same seat devouring the same dessert. The jukebox was stomping out an old rock song, a steady driving tune, and her foot bounced along to the beat. She waved him over, and he sat beside her thrilled that she remembered him.

“Where you been, cowboy?” she asked.

“Nowhere special,” he said.

She hummed thoughtfully around a spoonful of fudge. She drew the utensil out of her mouth like a sucker she was determined to get all the sugar she could from. Her lips were mesmerizing, and the way she licked chocolate from them bordered on provocative.

“You look kind of young for Deadlock ink,” she said, having noticed his tattoo the last time they met. “What are you? Sixteen?”

“Seventeen.” Practically an adult.

“Aw, you’re just a baby,” she cooed in a tone that was light enough to narrowly avoid being condescending. She scooped another portion of ice cream into her mouth and sucked the spoon clean and licked her lips and continued. “You got a name, stud?”

“McCree,” he told her.

Jesse didn’t know what made him say that. He’d never gone by his last name. Even the Deadlock men, the rare times when they weren’t using rude epithets, called him by his first name. He added it as an afterthought. She repeated his whole name, handling each syllable with a care that made him fall in love all over again.

“I like it,” she decreed. She took another bite, taking her time with this one, and then pointed her spoon at him and said, “Word of advice, McCree: a name that good doesn’t deserve to be ruined by a bad reputation. Don’t let those Deadlock meatheads get you into trouble.”

Jesse returned to the Panorama Diner again a week later only to be disappointed by the sight of her empty seat. No bike outside, no empty sundae dish, not even an impression of her ass in the cheap leather cushion. She hadn’t been there at all. Too proud to walk out and admit he’d only been in to see her, he sat in his usual place (that would have been beside her, close enough that their arms had sometimes touched) and wondered if she’d ever be back.

Eventually the owner, a blue haired lady that served as both the diner’s only waitress and only cook during slower shifts, came around to take his order. She wasn’t the least bit concerned that her diner was practically empty. Ever since Deadlock took control of the area tourists didn’t stop and stay like they used to. Not even for the Cave of Mystery.

“Something on your mind, baby?” she asked in response to his dejected posture.

“That woman that’s always sitting here eating ice cream, who is she?” he asked.

“You don’t know miss Bad Reputation?” she asked with a spark of genuine surprise. “She’s a smuggler rode up here years ago out of Southern California running from the law. Round about your age when she got here, too. Nothing to her name but a Harley and a stack of warrants. Rumor is she’s the one that got Deadlock dealing guns, but they don’t give her credit. I figure they don’t want folks knowing they got a woman calling the shots. And one still shy of 30 no less.”

“You’re kidding?” he said, trying to take in all the information she’d laid out for him.

She shrugged a non-committal gesture and returned to the kitchen. That was what she knew, and she wouldn’t get involved in debating the truth of any rumor. Not where Deadlock was involved.

Jesse sat there dumbfounded. Had he been so smitten that he’d missed all the signs that the woman he’d fallen for was in the same gang as him? She didn’t have any of the typical tattoos or patches (that he could see), but she frequented the same hangouts. No one in their right mind spent time around Deadlock unless they were doing business.

As if conjured by the very thought of her, she tramped in through the front door, with windblown hair and a lit cigarette hanging limp from her lips, and stomped the dirt from her shoes and sat beside him. Where ever she had been, she looked like it had been a rough ride. Her cheeks were flushed, and her typically spotless tank top was stained with dirt. In her exhaustion she’d all but abandoned her refined posture in favor of leaning heavily on the bar.

Despite all of that, she still looked like a goddess. Her aura was alluringly dangerous like war itself condensed into a single human body. Jesse felt as though he were witnessing something no mortal was meant to see, and he craved more.

“You feeling okay, kid?” she asked, grounding him back in reality. The cigarette bobbed when she spoke sprinkling ashes over the counter. “I only ever saw that look on men who knew they were either dying or in love.”

“You make it sound like they’re the same thing,” he said.

She plucked the cigarette from her mouth and tapped it on the rim of the closest ashtray.

“That’s exactly what a man in love would say,” she accused.

“You got me,” he admitted. “I’m in love.”

* * *

 

**“C'mon, I’m funny. Why aren’t you laughing?”**

You’d never appreciated how accurate the term “homesick” was until you’d felt it yourself. The way your instincts longed for the simple, familiar comforts of home made your stomach ache from the moment you woke to when you finally returned to bed. Nothing at the Watchpoint could compare to being in your home in your bed.

Some nights you laid awake wondering if it would be worth it to desert Overwatch. Just pack your things and take yourself back to where your friends and neighbors were. Did the risk outweigh the reward? More importantly, would the guilt of abandoning your post taint the satisfaction of being free?

You took some solace in having Jesse near. Your relationship with your brother was still a little rocky, but having family by your side helped you feel more at home.

You arrived at breakfast one morning feeling exceptionally homesick after a dream about your old high school. Jesse was already there. (Blackwatch, you’d learned, kept strange hours.) You fixed a meager plate and sat down across from and poked at the food in front of you while you reflected on the friends you’d never see again.

You were so deep in thought that you hadn’t noticed Jesse speaking to you until he whistled for your attention.

“C'mon, I’m funny. Why aren’t you laughing?” he asked, apparently having made a joke that you failed to respond to.

“I’m sorry, Jesse. I’m just…”

You hesitated, unsure how to explain the way you felt. Your brother had never seemed as fond of your home town as you had been. How could you make him understand that you missed it so much it made you sick?

“I’m just a little homesick,” you finished, understating how much you really felt. “I know we never had much of a home to be sick for, but I miss my friends and that piece of crap excuse for a schoolhouse and the creepy abandoned mansion people use to break into on Halloween. You know?”

“I know,” Jesse said.

You could tell by the distant look in his eye that he was reflecting on something he wouldn’t share, something he believed you didn’t need to know. He was always so open until he thought the truth would hurt you (or rather your opinion of him).

“You could always go back, take my vacation time and stay a little longer if you want,” he pointed out. “I couldn’t go with you if I wanted to, but I’ll help you get there.”

“Thanks, Jesse. How can I make it up to you?” you told him. Already you were excited about going home.

“I just need you to go somewhere for me.”

* * *

 

**Number 25 with McCree, maybe the reader is a nymph or a fairy-like creature**

The people of the town had warned the gunslinger against venturing into the woods at night, but there were no other roads to his destination besides the grim overgrown path that led straight through them. All manner of supernatural creatures were rumored to live there so he took care to travel well armed. He trekked for hours between the gnarled trees, leafless for the coming winter. Above him the sky had become black and starless. He was not on human land anymore.

Ahead of him the path forked in two curved branches, one ending in pitch blackness and the other lit dimly by a pale blue glow. Neither path seemed inviting, but experience had taught him that creatures who thrived in darkness were often less gentle than those who preferred the light. He took the path on the left and followed it to the source of the light.

The arcane light radiated from a circular pool about thirty yards from shore to shore. No trees grew at its bank, and, as far as he could see, there was no gradual incline to deeper water just a sheer drop to an unknowable depth. At its center a young girl swam back and forth. The eerie glow of the pool made her skin shine like jade. She saw him and swam to the edge.

The water on her skin rippled gently with every movement as though it were a part of her. In daylight she may have passed as human, but by the faint blue light of the pool she looked otherworldly. She smiled up at him, and a sense of calm washed over him.

“You look lost,” she said. Her voice had a chime-like timbre that filled the silent clearing.

“Looks can be deceiving, miss,” McCree told her.

His gut insisted that something was amiss, but an insidious voice in the back of his mind told him to stay a while. The girl laughed at his remark, a tinkling sound like hundreds of tiny bells.

“You treat me like young woman. I’m almost three centuries old,” she said. Then she added, “Sit down. Rest.”

Her command echoed in his head. Rest. Stay. It was safe here. What harm would it do to sit by the water for a few hours? She grinned at him, expectant and waiting.

And hungry. The razored teeth that lined her patient smile betrayed her true intentions. On instinct McCree drew his weapon and backed away from the pool and the siren’s radiant charm. As he retraced the path that he’d come from he could hear her desperate screeching behind him. He’d have to take his chances in the dark.

* * *

 

**I want some angst, how about McCree thinking his S/O is dead but find her to be brainwashed by talon into some famous assassin**

**tw: death/suicide**

McCree felt so relieved to see you again that he didn’t notice the gun in his face until your finger was on the trigger, a split second between him and death. On instinct he drew his weapon and centered it on your head right between those beautiful eyes. Could he kill you to save his own life? Were you even the same woman he’d fallen in love with? When he’d set out to track down Talon’s new assassin, he hadn’t expected to find his lost lover. The memory of the cathedral, nearly empty except for a few close friends, and your coffin obscured by the mass of roses collected there still lingered in his mind.

“So you’re the one they call the Siren?” he said.

“The one and only. Did you miss me?” you answered.

“I buried you. You’re supposed to be dead,” he said.

He couldn’t believe that you were really there, alive and stronger than you’d ever been. He’d seen you die. He’d mourned you for almost 3 years.

“Talon did this. They took me,” you explained. A flash of despair crossed your face for just a moment before the indifferent stare of a trained killer returned. “They made me better. I’m so much stronger now, thanks to them.”

Your speech came out trite and rigid as if it were something you’d memorized a lifetime ago. The gun in your hand wavered imperceptibly as you adjusted your grip. Had any of your past targets been granted the same opportunity to see you before they died? Or was this genuine hesitation? You regarded the weapon fixed on you and looked back into his eyes.

“Are you going to…kill me, Jesse?” you asked, punctuating your question with a heavy pause.

“I don’t know if I can,” he told you.

Losing you was hard enough, but taking your life was a responsibility that he did not want. Your trigger finger tightened, the shaking of your hand more apparent now.

“You have to,” you insisted and added, “To save your life, you have to. Please.”

To save his life? He’d rather die than be without you again. But your suffering, however you tried to suppress it, was clear. Whatever Talon had done to make you their pawn was tearing you apart, and now you were pleading for his help to end it.

“I love you, pumpkin,” McCree said. There was so much more he wanted to tell you, but all he could say was “I love you.”

“I loved you, too,” you replied.

You were gone in an instant, the bullet in your head ending your years of torment for good. He caught you as you fell and sat in the street craddling you for the last time. He’d hoped he would get to hold you again, but not like this.

* * *

 

**School AU with McCree x Reader (like they’re in their senior year, 18 years old etc) ty!**

You sat slumped in a lawn chair in your back yard ignoring the “wish you were here” texts that your friends kept sending you from prom. Your parents had insisted against you missing your senior prom–your last chance to make some memories with your friends–but getting dumped by your date at the last minute had put you entirely out of the mood. Instead you’d resolved to stay home, eat your feelings, and stare angrily up at the stars as if they had personally stolen your date.

You heard the patio door open and assumed it was your mom bringing you another batch of over-sweetened coffee and soft words of comfort. Neither of which you wanted at the moment, but you had to respect that she was trying to nurse you through your heartbreak. You raised your mug over your head so she could see.

“I haven’t finished my last cup,” you said.

“Good, I brought you something special for it.”

That was definitely not your mom’s voice. You looked over your shoulder, thrilled to see Jesse dragging a chair across the yard to you. He was the only one of your friends who didn’t go to the dance. Not, as he claimed, because he couldn’t get a date (he could have had anyone in school), but because his reputation tended to draw unfair attention from the parent chaperones at school functions. He sat beside you and pulled a scuffed metal flask from his worn leather jacket and gestured for your cup into which he poured a generous amount of you didn’t care what. You sipped it carefully. Too strong.

“Christ, Jesse, what is this? Rubbing alcohol?” you asked.

“Everclear,” he told you.

“It’s like drinking paint thinner,” you exaggerated.

“If you can’t handle it-” he started reaching for your cup, but you pulled it away.

“Not if you took your bike tonight,” you said and looked over his biker boots and the gloves hanging out of his pocket.

You noticed he didn’t have a helmet either, but that was Jesse. He lived like he was invincible, never thought about what could happen. There was no such thing as a risky situation to him which is what made him so attractive to the other students. The Devil May Care, bad boy bit.

You knew him better than that. What others saw as fearlessness, you knew was really a death wish. He took chances, big ones, hoping that something would go wrong, but he was far luckier than he wanted to be. You’d tried too many times to talk him out of his dangerous lifestyle, but no matter how many times you swore that things got better he seemed to spiral further out of control. And yet he was the most loyal friend you had. He was always there when you needed him, dropping everything at a moment’s notice to be at your side. Like now.

He shifted his chair closer to yours and rested a hand on your knee.

“Don’t be too upset about-”

“You will not speak his name,” you interjected.

“I was gonna say ‘limp dick fuckboy’,” he said and grinned at your snort of a laugh. “Look, garbage like that ain’t worth your tears, but, if you need a shoulder to cry on anyways, you got me.”

“Thanks, Jesse.”

You took his hand, warming your fingers against his palm and smiled your first genuine smile in days. He squeezed your hand lightly, looking into your eyes but saying nothing. You wished he’d say something, anything to distract you from how close you suddenly were.

“If you’re thinking about kissing me,” you started, and his eyes seemed to light up at your words. “My mom is watching, and if she thinks we’re dating she’ll make you come over for dinner.”

“That sounds terrible,” he joked, steadily closing in on you. “But it’s a risk I’ll have to take.”

By the time that Jesse’s flask was empty–which happened faster than you thought it would–the two of you were sitting at the edge of your seats, your faces only inches apart. Your cheeks felt warm despite the cool night air, and your head was starting to feel light. Once he’d made you laugh you hadn’t stopped smiling. You found yourself wishing you could stay like this forever.

“Why didn’t you go?” you asked, still curious about why he missed the dance.

“I couldn’t get a date,” he answered. The same response he gave everyone.

“You know that’s not true,” you chided. “You’re a heart-throb. You could have asked anyone in the school, and they would have said yes.”

“There was one girl I wanted to take, but some asshole asked her out first,” he told you.

“Lucky girl,” you said.

“Not too lucky. Bastard dumped her right before the dance.”

You blushed as you realized what he had told you. You’d been friends for so long that you hadn’t even considered what kind of chemistry you had or whether you felt something more for him. He was certainly more handsome than when you’d met in middle school. That hadn’t escaped your notice. But you’d written off any thoughts of that as a biproduct of your developing hormones and nothing to do with any real attraction. Maybe you were in love with him.

Before you could respond he took the empty mug from your hands and set it on the ground. Taking you by the hand he stood and pulled you out of your chair and held you against him.

“Dance with me,” he said, and you giggled.

You stood with your arms around each other swaying silently in the middle of the yard. You gazed up into the moonlight reflected by his dark eyes. A calm satisfied smile was on his face, and the sight of it made your heart flutter.

His lips touched yours so lightly that you might not have noticed if you hadn’t been looking at him. There was an uncertainty to the gesture that you’d never seen in him as if he were afraid of offending you with his kiss. You answered by raising up on your toes to repay his act of love.

* * *

 

**Can I request McCree who has to go away for a year then comes back home to find out his S/O had a baby (McCree’s baby of course)**

The memory of you sitting in your garden and the contented glowing smile on your face when you announced that you were pregnant with his baby was the single thought that occupied McCree’s mind while he was away, and when what should have been one year halfway around the globe turned into nearly five, he clung to it like a life preserver pulling him back to shore. Amidst his often unsavory work his family and his home were his only place of peace.

Returning finally from his extended assignment for Overwatch, he walked purposefully down the familiar streets of the town you’d decided to settle in until he reached your gate and the unmistakable roses woven expertly through the spaces in the fence. He touched one gently. It seemed unreal that the flowers he’d helped you plant all those years ago were still thriving.

He looked across the yard but didn’t see you. Instead there was only a little girl with a long dark braid playing on the front steps of the house. He opened the gate and approached the house. As he neared the steps the girl leaped to her feet and seized the toy sword that had been laying beside her. She didn’t back away. Instead she stood firmly on the top step, blocking his way to the door, and scrutinized him from hat to boots.

“Are you here to see the queen?” she demanded in as stern a tone as her small voice could carry.

“Well, that depends, miss,” McCree answered, taking off his hat politely. “Are you the princess?”

“I’m the general And the princess,” the girl told him proudly.

He couldn’t resist grinning at her proclamation. She had to be his daughter. Her unabashed bravado reminded him too much of his wild youthful days.

“May I see the queen, señorita general?”

The girl studied him skeptically, her eyes darting more than once to the weapon on his hip. For the first time she looked wary. She bit her lip nervously, a question forming behind her dark eyes. Your voice at the door broke the long silence.

“Barlow, come get your-”

You froze halfway out the door and staring in disbelief at McCree. He could have sworn you hadn’t changed a bit since her last seen you. The weight of five years apart finally came crashing down on him, pressing tight against his rapidly beating heart. He hadn’t understood how deeply he missed you until this moment. It was as though a piece of him had been restored.

“Jesse,” your whisper barely made it to him before you rushed down the steps to throw your arms around his neck.

He held you while you wept tears of joy onto his shoulder, and when you finished he almost didn’t want to let you go. Holding his hand tightly, you turned back to the little girl on the stairs.

“Barlow, this is your papa,” you told her, your voice cracking with emotion. “He’s home.”

* * *

 

**Idk what to request but just give me some nsfw mccree x reader**

The first time you’d met like this you’d both been caught up in the adrenaline of a near death experience. One thing led to another, and you ended up bedding a cowboy. Now it was almost like tradition, the way the two of you celebrated a successful mission.

This time you’d both had some pretty close calls. Even after the long flight home your heart was still racing. The moment you stepped off the ship you grabbed McCree by the sleeve and pulled him into the nearest supply closet for a hurried messy kiss. You tossed his hat aside and tangled your hands in his hair. He reeked of gunpowder and sweat, and you could taste the remnants of blood from when he’d busted his lip.

He pushed you against the wall and left kissing you to bite at your neck. Soon his hands were at your waist unfastening your belt. You moaned as his hands brushed your skin. His fingers stroked your clit in gentle teasing circles before he pushed them deep inside of you. You gasped and rocked your hips, fucking yourself on his hand.

These quick flings in closets and vacant corridors were the crux of your relationship. Neither of you would say you were together in any official way. But each of you had certain needs that the other fulfilled.

You tensed, pulling his hair slightly as he worked you closer to coming. His lips were on your ear muttering for you to come for him. You were growing closer by the second and hid your face in his shoulder to muffle the desperate pants and moans he drew from you.

Your heart was still racing when he withdrew his hand and licked your cum from his fingers. The sight made you ache for more.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured you. “I’m not done with you yet.”


End file.
